


Under the Ice

by Xparrot



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Comment Fic, Drowning, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:38:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/Xparrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first shock of the river hurt like hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sheafrotherdon's "Baby, It's Cold Outside! Fest"

The first shock of the river hurt like hell, and the first choking mouthful of icy water was like breathing needles. But then everything went murky and vague and the water wasn't as cold as John had thought, not as painful, and it wasn't so bad to relax into it, to ignore the shouting in his ears and let go of the strap of his pack and drift away, quietly watching the hazy, frantic shadows moving above the ice, silhouetted against the filtered sunlight.  
  
He knew when they pulled him out, but didn't feel it, was only distantly aware that his body was being moved, the hands under him like being carried on another eddy. Out of the water sounds were just as muffled, the voices as incoherent. He thought there should be words; weren't there words, usually? But the noise beating against his frozen ears now made no more sense than the rush of the river current before.  
  
By the time speech became intelligible, he was shivering so hard he couldn't listen, teeth clattering together and even when he tried to lock his jaw he couldn't stop, couldn't try to speak or he might bite through his tongue. And the words he could hear came in so fast and furious a torrent that they might as well have been whitewater--"Sheppard, come on, wake up, come on, John, I, we need you, so wake up, shit you're cold, come on, Sheppard, you weren't under for that long, you're going to be okay, please, just, please, John--"  
  
He was shaking fit to break apart, but solid arms wrapped around him held him together; he didn't need words to comprehend the heat of Rodney's body, crowded against his in the sleeping bag. Rodney couldn't stop moving, couldn't keep his hands still as he talked and he couldn't stop talking, elbows poking John's ribs and chin bumping John's shoulder; but his breath was warm and his skin was warm and his scared and desperate voice was so warm that John floated on it and didn't bother trying to understand.  
  
Then Teyla and Ronon came back with a jumper, and then they were going through the Stargate--damn, he'd forgotten how cold a wormhole could be--and then there was the infirmary and a saline drip and an oxygen mask and observation. By the time they let him go, he had made himself stop shivering, and all the hot drinks had soothed his raw throat; it didn't hurt to talk anymore.  
  
So when he washed up against the doorframe outside Rodney's quarters that night, and the door slid open with Rodney behind it, John could have said something: _"Thanks for saving my life,"_ or _"Want to go race cars?"_ He could have said, _"When I try to sleep now the bed's rocking on waves and when I close my eyes I know I'm sinking, and I know it's not going to hurt that much, I know it's not that bad, and that's the worst part."_  
  
But the words were hard to grasp; it hurt to try to breathe in the freezing water, easier to open his numb fingers and let the river tear his pack's strap away, and Rodney frowned at him, took him by the arm and yanked him inside. "They shouldn't have let you out already, you still look like crap, are you still cold? Because I remember after my jumper crash, it took me a week before I stopped being cold even though the thermometers claimed my core temperature was normal, but then my body has always run naturally high, which was admittedly useful for getting sent home sick in grade school, but MDs never actually listen to what patients know about their own physiology--but that river was as cold as the ocean even if you weren't in it as long as I was, you looked and felt like a Shep-sicle when we got you out, are you still--"  
  
John's chest was tight and his tongue was frozen, but he reached out, dragged Rodney into his arms and clung to Rodney's warmth, to Rodney's voice and Rodney's touch, everything flooding over his head, painless, but it was okay, because Rodney had words, had breath, enough for both of them; Rodney wouldn't let him drown.


End file.
